


The Firm

by welzes



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-14 20:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welzes/pseuds/welzes
Summary: Belial finds Lucifer at the front desk of the law firm they both work in—only, it's not actually Lucifer.





	The Firm

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't obvious by now, I'm a glutton for alternate universe stories. I need to start working on fics set in the canon universe.
> 
> I wrote this in-between _Color Theory_ and _Made Men_ for pure self-indulgence. FaaBeli is my guilty pleasure ship, but please be warned that with Belial comes a heap of untoward behavior.

  **( 1 )**

  
“Oh? What are you doing, Lucifer—working the front desk?”   
  
It was unusual for Lucifer to wander out front, given his habit of holing up in the back of the firm with his darling paralegal. Even more out of the ordinary was the billowy coat he wore. Where was the pristine, pressed suit that cut him a dashing, if dull, figure?  
  
Leaning against the counter separating them, Belial continued, “You didn’t get into a fight with Sandy, did you?”  
  
Lucifer, who was organizing a stack of files, glanced at Belial before returning to his task.  
  
“What, you don’t want to talk about it? All right, all right. I get it. Still, it must have been some lover’s quarrel if you’re here wearing  _that_. Did he kick you out of the house without clothes, too?”  
  
Just then, Lucifer rounded the corner and approached the front counter. Belial straightened, scowling in disbelief as Lucifer addressed his doppelganger in the receptionist’s zone.  
  
“The afternoon meeting tomorrow is cancelled. Could you notify the parties involved?” asked Lucifer, to which his clone nodded.  
  
“Hey, hey, hey!” Belial waved. “What’s this?”  
  
“Ah, Belial,” said Lucifer. “I see you’ve met my brother.”  
  
“Right . . . Care to enlighten me on your  _brother’s_  name?”  
  
“His name is Lucilius. I asked him to fill in the vacancy for receptionist work until we hire a suitable substitute. Lucilius, this is Belial—he’s the only legal courier in the firm.”  
  
Indeed, and he was the best at his job. His coworkers cared little for his attitude, but he always saw to the efficient transportation and organization of important files and documents. Perhaps that was why they kept him around, degenerate though he was. It seemed only Lucifer was oblivious to Belial’s lascivious ways, because of course he was.  
  
Belial snapped his head toward Lucilius, who gave him a perfunctory look with a most unimpressed hum. His ears perked up when Lucilius spoke.  
  
“I’ll handle the cancellation. In the meantime, I suggest that your courier punch in or lose pay while he stands around.”  
  
The face was the same; however, the voice was anything but. Lucifer was of a voice that drew in sensitive men and women who wanted to be caressed by that sweet, perfect sound. Lucilius’ voice, on the other hand, was deep and resonant with a hint of practiced detachment.  
  
Belial felt an overpowering urge to bend that layered body over the counter, if only to hear the sweet sounds of arousal from that voice. Was Lucilius as quiet in bed as he was in public, or was he a screamer? Or was he the vocal type who tried to bite down his cries, unwilling to relinquish his cool control over himself?  
  
“Right,” Belial trailed off, still eyeing Lucilius as Lucifer returned to the usual spot. Then he smirked. “Will do. Guess I’ll be seeing you around from now on . . . Cilius.”

 

**( 2 )**

  
Belial slid onto the counter, his left leg all but sprawled out on the glossy wooden surface and nearly knocking over the calendar set there for the client’s perusal. His assignments were cleared for the time being, and that meant an indefinite break during which he could harass the firm’s newest addition.  
  
“So, Cilius,” he started, drawling his greeting, “about last week . . . Just wanted to say, very sorry about the confusion. You and Lucifer happen to look so alike. Are you twins?”  
  
As Lucilius continued to work, scribbling away on a document with surprisingly neat penmanship, it seemed that he wouldn’t answer. But the second he finished the section he was working on, he set the pen down and looked up, unperturbed by the leg in front of his face.  
  
“We’re just brothers. He’s three years my junior.”  
  
“Seriously? You guys don’t look that far apart. Well, I suppose three years aren’t that many in the long run.” He licked his lips. “Your brother’s gotten pretty far in life, considering. You know, he’s sweet on that paralegal who always follows him around. What about you? Have someone who can get under all those layers?”  
  
The number of layers that Lucilius wore was ludicrous. There was the turtleneck, under which there must have been another layer, because the color and fabric of the sleeves differed from those of the tall collar. Then there was the giant coat, and it was all very absurd: No matter how strong the air conditioning was in the firm, the fact remained that it was a hot day in the summer.  
  
“Someone like that is unnecessary,” said Lucilius, who then looked down and started on another document.  
  
“Ah, so you’re a virgin.”  
  
Lucilius was still writing. “And? Of what interest is that to you?”  
  
Belial laughed, though it sounded more like the bark of a dog. What a blasé response, he thought, so unlike the mess Sandalphon had created by dropping two cups of coffee upon being asked the same question. He could get used to this.

 

**( 3 )**

  
The senior receptionist had extended her hours to cover the days left open by the junior’s departure, which meant that Lucilius only had to come in once a week. There was no need to double up: He could review everything that had transpired within the past five days (they closed on Sundays) and keep up with the current day’s goings-on with little to no effort. But while Lucilius' work ethic was impressive, Belial had something else in mind for the day.  
  
Sliding onto the counter as he had the week prior, Belial leaned in until he was mere inches from Lucilius’ personal space.  
  
“Hey, Cilius. You do an awful lot of work for a sub. Are you even getting paid?”  
  
“A job is a job. It’s a given that I get paid,” replied Lucilius, his focus on the computer screen to his right.  
  
Belial hummed, then hoisted himself over the counter onto the receptionist’s side. He rested an arm on the back of Lucilius’ chair and edged closer to Lucilius’ face as he laid a daring hand on a well-draped leg.  
  
“Well, if you ever decide that you’re not getting your money’s worth,” he said as he moved his hand up Lucilius’ outer thigh, “there are always alternatives.”  
  
Lucilius snorted. Upon closer inspection, Belial saw that he was sneering at the screen. It was an infinitely more alluring reaction than what he would have gotten from Lucifer; if not for their resemblance, he never would have believed Lucilius and Lucifer to be related.  
  
Speaking of the devil—controlled footsteps alerted Belial to Lucifer’s impending entry. He retracted his hand and straightened while Lucilius proceeded with computer work like nothing had happened. Lucifer watched them with a curious tilt of his head as he strode by, and Belial’s gaze drifted to the exaggerated contour of Lucilius’ body.  
  
He wondered what Lucilius was hiding under that billowy coat. Did he have the same body type as the slim and toned Lucifer, or was he on the heavier side and trying to cover it up? Either way, Belial wanted to run his hands over pale hips—bruising them as proof of his festering love—and maybe apply his mouth to places that had never been explored before. How sweet the nectar of Lucilius’ uninhibited orgasm would be, he thought . . . or, just maybe, would it be sour?

 

**( 4 )**

  
“What’s someone with a face like yours doing, working a dead-end job with no hours?” Belial asked while Lucilius answered the phone in the most droning voice to date. “You’re not actually the firm’s third wheel, are you? Hate to break it to you, but Sandy doesn’t seem like the type who’s able to share. A threesome would be hopeless.”  
  
Lucilius hung up and answered, “I have other jobs.”  
  
“Wow, you were actually listening? You never cease to amaze me, Cilius. How many?”  
  
“Four.”  
  
Belial’s smirk dropped, his eyelids drooping in distaste and boredom. “No wonder you’re a virgin.” Boredom quickly gave way to budding excitement as he continued, “Say, why don’t you take a day off sometime for a one-night stand? It does wonders for stress management.”  
  
“You’re suggesting that my work is cause for stress. Far from it,” said Lucilius, looking between the computer screen and a document on the desk for discrepancies in data entry.  
  
“Most people work one job.”  
  
“Speaking from experience as someone who was expelled from higher education for inappropriate behavior? If so, our circumstances differ significantly.”  
  
Belial laughed, albeit flatly. “You know about that? It didn’t all go to waste, you know. I can make a mean cake. I wouldn’t mind baking you something with a  _hot_  finish for the icing. All you’ve got to do is ask.”  
  
In the end, Lucilius asked no such thing; however, the fact that he’d said more in their conversation than all the previous weeks combined didn’t escape Belial’s notice. He burned with the need to know if Lucilius’ lethargic affect was natural or the result of stretching himself thin like a classic workaholic in need of a release.

 

**( 5 )**

  
Movie night with Beelzebub had been a dreadful bore. To this millisecond, he wondered what had possessed him to agree to such a heinous cold shower. He’d itched throughout the whole film, save for the few key scenes that played in his mind as he presently strode up to Lucilius’ desk.  
  
“I saw something interesting last night,” he started, “and it had me wondering. Ever thought about play-acting? With a stony expression like yours, I bet you could pull off a convincing sadist.”  
  
“My older brother is an actor,” said Lucilius. The answer was so sudden that Belial took a moment to pause before he laughed.  
  
“You’re a  _middle child_? No wonder you’re so gloomy. Did your parents love you, or were they too busy to pay attention? Hey, how about playing out your unresolved daddy issues?”  
  
“Hmph.” There it was again—that lovely sneer. “Our talents cover a broad spectrum of fields. Comparing us to one another serves no practical purpose.”  
  
It didn’t, but Belial would do it, anyway. “So your older brother is a beloved actor, while your baby brother is an accomplished lawyer . . . What does that make you: secretary of the year?”  
  
This time, Lucilius stopped to look at Belial. “You forget that I’m employed elsewhere.”  
  
“Don’t sweat the small details. But you know, those things I was saying earlier . . . They still apply. I don’t mind playing the m once in a while.” He chuckled. “How did you know that I saw a movie starring your brother?”  
  
“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have started raving about something so pointless.”  
  
“Is that what it sounded like? I’ll be honest. I just can’t control myself around you, Cilius. You know all the right buttons to press,” he said, timing the last word with a key stroke from Lucilius. “It drives me crazy.”

 

**( 6 )**

  
The next Saturday, he walked into the firm and saw Sandalphon seated at the front desk. That was odd; even stranger, though, was the palpable absence of another. Belial squinted, his mouth agape with slight disbelief.   
  
“Hey, hey, hey. Where’s Cilius?”  
  
Surely Lucifer hadn’t replaced Lucilius with Sandalphon, of all people. Weren’t they too busy gushing over coffee together to separate for more than an hour at a time? Belial closed his mouth as surprise gave way to the dull push of disappointment.  
  
“Away,” answered Sandalphon. “Lucilius has a guest appearance at a conference.”  
  
“Since when is he so important?” asked Belial, his voice deadpan.  
  
“He’s an esteemed researcher in his primary field. People from all over the country are attending his presentation. I don’t know the details too well; Lucifer could tell you more.”  
  
“Not interested.” Belial sighed, then watched Sandalphon with an exaggerated up-and-down movement of his eyes. “Are you sure you’re qualified to be doing Cilius’ job, though? He gets a lot of work done in one day.”  
  
“I can still handle the basic responsibilities. It’s better than letting the phone go unanswered.”  
  
Sandalphon glanced to the side and Belial stifled his snort. Lucifer’s sweet paralegal had come a long way from the insecure little thing he’d been when the firm was young, but that hadn’t done anything for his being easy to read. So hesitant, he thought—unlike Lucilius, who apparently had no qualms about talking in front of hundreds of people.  
  
A conference like that would put Lucilius’ monotonous, professorial voice to sound use. What a sinful scenario that would make in the bedroom.  
  
“Let me know when that gets too stressful for you,” said Belial.  
  
With a wary pinch in his brow, Sandalphon asked, “What does that mean?”  
  
“It means, I’ll take you to the restroom and get you all nice and relaxed. Sounds better than a cup of lukewarm coffee, don’t you think? Or would you rather do it right here, right now?”  
  
Sandalphon made a face, like he wasn’t sure whether he should be angry or flustered, when the phone started ringing. He turned away to answer the call, his greeting clipped while Belial swept past the counter with a grin.

 

**( 7 )**

  
The following week, Belial strolled into the employee lounge and turned his head in the direction of its only occupant. Lucilius was seated near the corner closest to the sink and refrigerator, a cup and a plate drying on the dish rack. That explained the lack of Sandalphon at the front. Belial had caught Lucilius on the tail end of lunch break.  
  
“Look who’s back,” said Belial, advancing on Lucilius. “How was the conference?”  
  
The book Lucilius had been reading shut closed with a soft thump. A quick glimpse at the obscured cover told Belial that it was an analytic text on engineering that was beyond his ability to grasp—though he thought that he wouldn’t mind, if Lucilius were to read it aloud for him.   
  
“The same as always,” said Lucilius, and there was a hint of disdain in his words. “Such events are hardly worth the excitement.”  
  
“Does anything excite you?”  
  
Lucilius sneered. “You ask questions to which you already know the answer.”  
  
Belial chortled as he slid onto the seat across Lucilius. “Look at you. You’ve got so much going for you, but are you grateful for any of it? You’re like a vacuum, sucking the joy out of everything you touch. There isn’t a bigger killjoy around.” He flicked his tongue out, wetting his lower lip. “I like it.”  
  
“Your verbosity bores me.”  
  
Lucilius rose from his chair and started for the door leading to the front. His eyes dark, Belial stood as Lucilius rounded the table between them, obstructing the way with his body.  
  
“So you want it rough? Well, then—as you wish.”  
  
Belial descended, pushing Lucilius up against the table and wrapping a hand around the back of his head to keep him in place, as another hand reached down to grip his bony wrist. His hair tousled beneath the bruising grip; but Lucilius didn’t so much as make a sound when Belial leaned in, pressed hungry lips to the exposed flesh of his neck above the turtleneck, and sucked.  
  
The lounge was silent until Belial withdrew a moment later, pleased with the pink bruise blossoming beneath an otherwise colorless jaw. Lucilius, on the other hand, looked wholly unimpressed.  
  
“Are you finished? I’ve got work to do.” Lucilius resumed his way to the front while Belial reigned in the impulse to laugh; however, before he shut the door behind him, he added: “There’s nothing worth getting excited over in a world so saturated with predictability. What do I have to be grateful for in this depressing demonstration of life?”  
  
The door gave a soft click as it closed. Belial cocked his head.  
  
“Is that a challenge? For someone who complains about unnecessary words, you seem rather fond of them, Cilius . . . ”  
  
It was a pity that Lucilius insisted on covering up such nice, soft skin beneath layers upon layers of stifling clothing. But that wasn't so bad, Belial thought. If anything, it made him want to play with it more.

 

**( 8 )**

  
That morning, Lucifer stopped him on the way to pick up an assignment.  
  
“Wait, Belial. I have a request.”  
  
“What is it, Lucifer? If it’s a different assignment, you’ll have to wait.”  
  
“No, it has nothing to do with the firm. It’s about Lucilius.” At Belial’s pause, Lucifer continued, “Forgive me if this is too forward, but I’ve seen you speak with him every week that he’s been here. I wondered if you’d be interested in seeing him outside of the firm.”  
  
Everything about that was ludicrous, and the hilarity of it all nearly had Belial laughing in Lucifer’s face. “You want me to date your brother?” he asked, mirth etching into his words instead.  
  
“Only if that’s what he wants. Lucilius has always been . . . distant. No one has ever expressed as much interest in my brother as you. So please: if you’ll take it, this is my selfish request.”  
  
When Belial later relayed this to Lucilius as he sat on the counter with his legs crossed, the latter gave a scathing huff. Lucifer’s dearest brother was more prone to showing his contempt nowadays; it was a step up from his usual impassivity, though that did nothing to improve his pessimistic outlook on everything. Belial didn’t especially mind—in fact, there was a certain charm to Lucilius’ unerring negativity.  
  
“Lucifer is naïve,” said Lucilius.  
  
“Aren’t you curious about whether I accepted the offer or not?” asked Belial.  
  
“Not particularly.”  
  
“So you won’t find it strange if I ask you to come over tonight?”  
  
Lucilius paused in the middle of straightening a sheaf of papers, then said, “Give me your address.”  
  
“No problem. I’ll give you a lift.”  
  
They piled into Belial’s old car that evening. The drive to his flat was, for the most part, eventless. Lucilius was more interested in looking out the window than engaging in small talk, and that was fine with him: They’d have plenty of time to talk and  _do_  once the welcoming embrace of night rolled in.  
  
Economic and minimalist, Belial’s flat boasted the bare necessities to entertain a guest or two. It was otherwise clear of clutter and clean, with a kitchenette that he strolled into as he waved toward the couch in the communal area.  
  
“Sit down and take a nap or something. Oh, but don’t get too comfortable, or I’ll be tempted to get down on you in your sleep,” he said.  
  
Lucilius obeyed insofar as sitting down on the couch before staring at the blank television screen across the room. When Belial returned with a plate of cake slice and a handful of chocolate bars in tow, he said, “I’m lactose intolerant.”  
  
“You tell me this now?” sighed Belial. He set the plate down on the table and dropped onto the couch. “Oh, well. Guess it’s mine, then.”  
  
He sat with his knees spread, his right thigh pressing against Lucilius’ left. Silence settled between the little space between them as Belial scarfed down the slice of cake he’d baked the previous day. But he left the bars be, and soon he was licking his lips to clear the last of the spongy crumbs.  
  
“You know why I brought you here and not some fancy restaurant, don’t you?” he asked as he leaned back and hugged the back of the couch, his arm snaking around behind Lucilius.  
  
Lucilius had made himself comfortable where he sat on the far end of the couch, one leg crossed over the other and his arm propped up by the elbow on the armrest. If not comfortable, he looked bored out of his mind; such ennui was his natural state. His raised fist, on which his cheek was resting, dropped as he turned to face Belial.  
  
“Of course I do,” he said. “Subtlety isn’t your forte.”  
  
“You’re right. It isn’t. So I can do this and you won’t stop me, right?”  
  
Belial turned, seized Lucilius by the shoulders, and surged forward. The push sent Lucilius onto his back, his legs still in their original position and twisting his waist at an awkward angle; however, he made no move to correct the discomfort. He smirked derisively. Above him, Belial’s eyes widened with unbridled lust.  
  
“That’s why I like you, Cilius. You never say, ‘No,’ to trying.”  
  
With a wolfish grin, Belial leaned down and captured Lucilius’ lower lip. His hands crept up to pull the billowy coat by the collar down to Lucilius’ elbows, exposing thin shoulders clad in black. A guttural growl erupted from his throat as he sucked on the swollen lip, and Belial undid the belt securing Lucilius’ tucked shirt to slip his hands to places unexplored.  
  
Their coupling, if it could be called that, was carnal. Belial took as he pleased, and Lucilius denied him nothing.

 

**( 9 )**

  
  
“I’m surprised, Cilius. I didn’t expect your stamina to be so poor that you’d doze off right after you’d gotten your fill. You didn’t even let me finish.” Belial chuckled as he sat up and watched Lucilius blink the sleep away from weary eyes. “Did you sleep well?”  
  
Evidently, he still lacked the energy. Lucilius, who worked a total of four jobs (and who knew, how many hours) with multiple degrees and a doctorate under his belt, had overslept and yet made no attempt to so much as his lift his head from the armrest on which it lay.  
  
“Is that so surprising? I’m not accustomed to excitement. Consequently, I lack the excess energy to spare,” said Lucilius, dryly.  
  
“Considering that, your body seemed plenty excited last night. You’re just so  _pliable_.”  
  
“It’s a natural physiological response. Even I’m human.”  
  
“Hm? Did I hear you right? Licking chocolate off of you was a natural thing to do? If you liked it that much, I can do it again.” Lucilius grunted, a noncommittal response. “The sounds you made last night were amazing. I’d love to hear some more. We can keep practicing until you learn to stay awake: I’d hate for you to keep missing half the show. But you should probably get up now. I'm sure you've got work to be doing in at least three places.  
  
“Are you listening, Cilius? You’re not asleep again, are you? Hey, Cilius!”


End file.
